The Cenaris Series
by Yami no Ryu
Summary: Daniel is captured and imprisoned for five years. Things change. Warning: Dark!Daniel.
1. Cenaris

Daniel didn't think there was any place worse than Hadante. He was wrong. This place--Cenaris...this place is much worse. And Daniel doesn't think that is just because here, he is alone. 

The world consists of a sprawling complex for criminals, underground for the most part. That is where the similarities to Hadante end. The surface—sunside, as the Cenarians say—is barren of all life. There is dirt, and dust, and rocks, and nothing else. The Stargate is a few miles north, but there is no DHD, and as far as Daniel can tell, no ouside source of power.

He doesn't like what he's become in this place. He's become something dark, something of this world he lives in. He's killed. He's sold his body. And when he thinks of it now, he isn't ashamed. He had to do it to survive. In here, that's all that matters. He doesn't like it, but he isn't ashamed.

Daniel doesn't know why he was thrown in here; nobody explained anything to him. He was knocked out, and woke up in a narrow cot, with dirty, hard faces jeering at him. Now the faces don't jeer. They crumble.

He knows what type of man these people fear, and when he thinks of it, he hates that he's that man. He hates that he can walk into a room and stop all conversation; hates the grovelling and the snivelling. He hates that when he says something, people listen--not out of respect, but out of fear. He hates that when he gives and order, it is followed, no questions asked. He hates that his anger make people cringe and he hates that their fear makes them obedient. When he thinks about it.

Carissa taught him how to defend himself. She was the previous Daisho--the leader. She took a liking to his innocence, and she took a liking to destroying it. Daniel paid for his lessons in blood and sex. But he learned, and when the time was right, he killed her.

She wouldn't be the last he killed.

He became Daisho, and for the first few months his position was contested by even the weakest of the criminals. Daniel could not sleep without fear of attack. It was only a network of spies and protectors that he had set up under Carissa's nose that saved him. They were still loyal to him, every one.

Every aspiring usurper was dealt with. Some in a very public manner. Daniel earned a reputation for ruthlessness, for cruelty. And when he saw this, he nodded in satisfaction, because that meant he could sleep at night without fear of assassination, and he could eat and drink without fear of poison.

He took the complex on Cenaris and made it it his. He stopped the violence, and the rape, and everything he had experienced. If the price were a few men here, a few women there, he paid it. He made the Cenarians pay it.

There were still attempts on his life, but they were foiled. Those that were not killed on sight were given public deaths: hangings, beheadings; a few were drawn and quartered to the immense satisfaction of the Cenarians. None became martyrs. In a world where it's kill or be killed, where the people are only capable of looking out for themselves, there is no such thing as martyrdom.

Then, two years after Daniel had become Daisho, five years after Daniel had arrived, SG-1 comes blazing through the 'gate. To save him.

When Daniel hears that come from the breathless lips of Leuitenant Colonel Samantha Carter, he laughs. He's not sure if there is something left to be saved.

He goes with them, because even though he understands Cenaris, this world of kill or be killed, he has never stopped longing for his home, for the SGC. Even when the bleakness of his prison leached his innocence, and then his hope away, he still longed for his adoptive family.

He knows the 'rescue' will not be easy. He's proved right when the Cenarians realize that Daniel has a way out, and begin to gather. Daniel recognizes the signs of danger.

The Cenarians never have a Daisho for long. Regicide, as it is, is common—Daniel knows this. The Cenarians are much too unsettled, unhappy, unloving to care for a leader, and are much too ambitious and desperate to let one say alive for long. Killing Daniel will not trouble them.

SG-1 is being followed by a huge, silent mob. The others are on edge. Daniel's mind is whirling, trying to figure out how to escape the inevitable confrontation. He is somewhat calmed to see those loyal to him in the crowd, ready to defend him, but he knows they will not take action unless he tells them to. And he can't very well tell them to kill all the inhabitants of the complex.

So he stops, and turns to face them. None of them have weapons, but Daniel knows very well that anything can become a weapon. Jack and Teal'c and Sam stop as well, shifting uneasily.

One of the men in front bends to pick up a stone. Others follow suit.

Daniel says, calmly, "Jack. Gun." Jack hesitates; this is not the man he knew, and until he knows what happened on this world, Jack isn't sure Daniel should have a weapon. Daniel doesn't even turn to look at his former commanding officer. He says again, his voice soft and deadly, "Jack. Gun."

He has an air of someone who is used to being obeyed, and obeyed he is. Before even registering the movement, Jack has given Daniel his P-90. Without hesitating, Daniel sets the automatic to single-shot, aims, and shoots the man in the hand. The man drops the stone with a howl of pain, and the others pause.

"I won't be so generous next time," Daniel says, his voice quiet but pitched to carry. He thinks his threat has worked, until he hears a yelp of pain. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sam holding her arm, and a large, sharp rock on the ground. Already there is a growing stain on Sam's sleeve. Daniel flicks the P-90 to automatic, and fires on the first person he sees. It doesn't matter if she threw the rock at Sam. The message is loud and clear.

The others shrink back from the dead woman full of holes, eyes wide and fearful. Daniel doesn't even blink at the blood soaking into the ground. He turns, and walks toward the 'gate. He doesn't give the P-90 back.

Daniel can feel the stares of SG-1 on his back. They make the hairs on the back of his neck prick, and he instinctively tenses his muscles, ready for anything. While he's waiting for Sam hook up the power source they've brought, he looks at Jack.

What he sees in Jack's eyes is something akin to pity, and something akin to fear. Jack drops his eyes first. Daniel stares a moment longer at Jack, then turns his eyes to the 'gate as it opens in a great flash of sound and light. Something in his heart, or what he figures is left of it, warms at the familiar sight.

Sam punches in her code, then recieves the all-clear. She walks through, throwing little, worried glances over her shoulder at Daniel. Jack purses his lips, and follows her. Teal'c looks at Daniel.

"Go," Daniel says. "I'll be right behind you."

Teal'c considers him a moment more, then nods. Daniel is a step behind. He is about to cross the event horizon when his instincts kick in, and he ducks. A rock flies over his head and into the wormhole. He turns and stands simultaneously, brings the gun up, and shoots. There is a cry of pain, and Daniel heaves himself through. He falls into a roll on the other side when he hits the ramp. He's up in a second, yelling, "Close the iris!"

One man manages to make it through the 'gate before the iris seals it. There are two more thumps, and then the Stargate disengages with an elecrical fizz. Daniel is moving even before the Marines do, throwing the P-90 off to the side and then falling to a crouch. He sweeps his foot out in an arc, knocking the other Cenarian to the floor. He pulls his foot back in and springs at the Cenarian, but the other man is rolling out of the way. Daniel lands on his hands, and goes into another controlled tumble that sends him up facing the Cenarian. The man shoots his hand out, palm first, aiming for Daniel's neck. Daniel dodges and siezes the wrist in an iron grip, twisting. The Cenarian struggles, but Daniel quickly has him subdued, both arms locked behind him. The other man is still, because the way Daniel has his arms makes any movement painful. There is a reason Daniel was Daisho.

Then Daniel looks up.

Jack, Sam and Teal'c are all looking at him in awe and fear from the bottom of the ramp. The Marines have a wary respect on their faces, paired with disbelief. General Hammond and several technicians are standing in the control room, but Daniel can't make out their faces. He suddenly feels as if he's entered enemy territory with no allies, no friends, no one to watch his back.

The 'gate room is completely silent except for Daniel's and the Cenarian's harsh breathing.

"Dr Jackson?" Hammond's voice is laced with uncertainty, hope, and, yes, a little bit of fear.

Daniel manages to dredge up a smile, and honest-to-goodness smile, not a smirk of satisfaction or superiority. "Good to be home, General."

But he's not quite sure this is home any more.


	2. Infirmiry

Two armed, stony-faced airmen escort him down the halls, as if he was a threat—he thinks, maybe he is. Thankfully, they don't insult his memory by trying to guide him to the infirmiry; he remembers the way well enough. He walks into the infirmiry, and it's as he remembers it: white beds with white sheets surrounded by white curtains. The smell of antiseptic greets him like a long-lost lover. Daniel realizes he missed this place, despite the less-than-cheery hours he's spend in those beds. This place is familiar, is home. 

Janet walks out of her office, face buried in a manila file folder. She glances up as she registers the presence of others, and then stops, her mouth falling open in shock. The whispered "Daniel" is drawn softly and unwillingly from her lips.

He knows what she is seeing: a thin man, with long hair tied back loosely, dressed in a simple pristine white shirt and pants. His only concession to color is a dark purple sash embroidered with gold threads that is tied about his waist.

"How…?"

"SG-1 found me," he says, and can't help the smile that lifts his lips at the incredulous joy in Janet's eyes. The folder closes with a flap of paper, and suddenly she's pressed against him, her arms around his neck. Daniel isn't sure what to do, and tenses, but she doesn't seem to notice.

"We missed you," she whispers into his shoulder.

"I missed you too," Daniel murmurs back, and that's truth, whole and unblemished. He doesn't remember when he last told the truth so fully; perhaps before Cenaris.

Finally the petit physician draws away, and surreptitiously passes her hand over her eyes to wipe away tears. "Well, let's get on with it, shall we?"

Daniel nods. Janet looks severely at the two airmen, and the two soldiers about-face, taking up guard positions outside of the infirmiry door. Janet walks over to a bed, Daniel following, and pulls the curtains shut. Daniel remembers after-mission physicals as well, so he begins to strip: first the sash, symbol of a position that is no longer his; then the shirt, quickly over his head and halfway down his arms when he hears a gasp.

He feels a gentle touch to his back and automatically tenses--when people touched him it was usually a bad thing. The touch is feather-light, and flutters from one old scar to the next; not that there is much of a distinction. Most of his back is scar tissue, now, from whips, blades, and flames. Then the hand is gone.

Daniel turns, the shirt hanging from his hand. Janet is standing, one hand holding a clipboard too tightly, her lips pressed firmly together, her face pale. She sees the large 'C' carved into his left pectoral and all the color drains from her face. Daniel thinks of the matching 'C' on the inside of his right thigh, but says nothing. She will find that soon enough.

"Who did that?" she asks, her voice shaking with supressed emotion, anger darkening her eyes.

"Carissa," Daniel answers simply enough; she'll hear the rest at the breifing.

The rest of the physical is done in silence, rage radiating from the doctor's small frame. Daniel accepts it, but feels no wrath of his own. His anger came and went, and he took vengeance on those he remembered hurting him. For him, that is satisfying enough.


	3. Commissary

Daniel stares at the buffet in the commissary. He was released from the infirmiry an hour ago, Janet pale and drawn as she ushered him into the capable hands of the two airmen. 

Now, Jack has taken it upon himself to babysit the once-archeologist. Daniel knows the rest of the team will be in soon. He watches what Jack takes, and takes exactly that: eggs, bacon, toast. Daniel knows, intellectually, that the food is safe, but habits ingrained by five years of living in a hostile environment are difficult to break.

He sits across from Jack at a blue-paper-covered table, so familiar and yet so foreign. This is surreal—everything since Jack and Sam and Teal'c appeared on Cenaris to rescue him seems like a dream. The only real part was his fight with the Cenarian, but even that is edged in fantasy.

"So," Jack says. Daniel snaps back to the present, muscles tense, his hands clutching silverware with white-knuckled ferocity. How could he have let himself become distracted? On Cenaris, that means death.

As soon as that thought crosses his mind, another comes into focus: he is not on Cenaris.

"So," Daniel says back, eyes fixed on his plate but aware of every movement in the room. He notices Jack has eaten some of his eggs, half of his toast, and a couple strips of bacon, and hasn't keeled over yet.

There is an uncomfortable pause between them, and Daniel realizes that they have nothing in common. Daniel realizes that Jack is waiting for him to say something, fill the silence with his archeological babble. Daniel realizes he can't do that, and he feels his heart harden a little more.

Jack reaches out, and before he can think, Daniel has Jack's wrist in a grip strong enough to bruise. The other hand has his knife flipped at act like a dagger.

He meets Jack's eyes, and in them Jack sees something dark, foreign, hard. Jack feels a shiver go through him: those are the eyes of a murderer, of a man who has done all he can to survive and not regretted a thing.

Daniel comes back to himself with a start, and releases Jack. The colonel brings his wrist to himself, and rubs it absently, still observing Daniel.

Daniel says nothing, simply eats. Jack sighs. "You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"

Daniel's eyes flicker up and down. Then he says, in a flat, emotionless voice. "Sure, Jack."


	4. Briefing Room

Daniel walks into the briefing room, head held high. SG-1 stares at him; Jack's eyes are flinty, his mouth a tight line, though Daniel is pretty sure the man isn't angry at him; emotions flash across Sam's face, disbelief, joy, anger; Teal'c is as expressionless as ever, and Daniel has lost the ability to read him. Janet is as pale and silent as she was when he left the infirmiry. 

General Hammond comes in as Daniel is sliding into his seat across from Sam and next to Jack. The general sits, looking at Daniel as if he expects the other to disappear. Daniel realizes a lot of people are looking at him that way.

"Dr. Jackson," Hammond begins, and then stops. He looks uncertain for a moment, unsure where to lead the conversation.

Daniel settles more fully into his chair, relishing the comfort. This was a luxury even the Daisho did not have. Then Daniel says, "Should I just start from when I woke up on Cenaris?"

"Where?" Jack asks, and it is so familiar, so dear, that Daniel's heart skips a beat, but his face remains calm.

"It's what the people called the planet," Daniel explains, voice steady.

Hammond nods. "That sounds like a good place to start."

"Before waking up in Cenaris, I remember speaking to the delegate of P4Q-667," Daniel begins. 667 was first dialed by SG-1; it was similar to Earth's early 1920s, with booming economy, an elegant, rich upper class and a lower class scraping to get by. Nevertheless, they were extremely advanced medically, with equipment that Earth doctors would have killed to get their hands on. Daniel was sent with the diplomatic team to give the negotiator from 667 a friendly face. "Then, I don't know. I don't remember anything until I woke up on Cenaris."

"What exactly is Cenaris?" Jack interrupts.

"I was getting to that," Daniel says, but without any heat. "Cenaris is a prison colony, much like Hadante. As far as I can tell, most of the people there are criminals from 667, but some are people who dialled the address and came without looking for a DHD, and found themselves stranded. And before you ask, Sam, there was no external power source. Whoever the jailors were, they were careful."

"What happened when you woke up?" Hammond asks, voice soft, grandfatherly. Five years ago, Daniel would have been warmed by the tone, but now he simply doesn't care.

"I was nearly gang raped by four of the Cenarians," Daniel says bluntly. He observes how a muscle in Teal'c's jaw jumps, and how Sam's eyes widen in horror, and how Jack's hands clench around a pen spasmodically. "Carissa intervened."

"Who is this Carissa?" Teal'c asks, eyes narrowed.

"She was the Daisho, or leader of the Cenarians."

"So she saved you?" Sam says hopefully. Daniel sneers in derision.

"Hardly. But she kept me alive."


	5. Cenaris, Tunnels, Five Years Ago

_Cenaris, Tunnels, five years ago_

Daniel followed the blonde woman down the corridor. He could still feel the tremors of fear rattling through his bones, could still feel his attackers' hands and smell their breath. Whoever this woman was, she had made them recoil, their own fear clear in their faces, with only a word.

She hadn't said a word since ordering him to follow her, but he didn't miss the looks of hate and terror others gave her when she passed, and the pity aimed at him. Still, she had saved him, and he had to be thankful for that.

She was thin, what he could see of her arms toned and strong. She moved like a predator, confident and powerful. Against the dark walls and grimy people, she was brilliant in her plain, pristine white shirt and pants, making the sash of purple and gold around her waist all the more eye-catching. Her pale skin nearly glowed in the poor light of the tunnel.

"Where are you taking me?" Daniel asked. She turned her head slightly to look at him, avoiding a few people instinctually.

"My rooms," she answered, in her soft, commanding voice. Her brown eyes would have been unremarkable in others, but in her face held secrets in their depths.

Daniel wasn't fooled by her beauty, or her apparent softness; this was a woman who commanded the fear of many people, and not to be trifled with. Unlike the Goa'uld, she had taken power without advanced technology, and kept it without the title of 'god'. Daniel knew he would have to be careful. She was dangerous.

Eventually they reached a doorway that lay in a concave section of wall. It was similar to many they had already passed in the hall, but it was inlaid with gold and a purple stone Daniel could not identify. Also different was the single guard, holding a spear and sporting twin daggers on his belt. When the woman approached, he kneeled fluidly. She nodded regally at his bowed head, and pushed open the door.

The smell that coiled out from the room was coppery and sickly-sweet. Daniel recognized the scent as blood. The woman scowled, turned to the guard, and demanded, "Why was the mess not cleaned from my room?"

"I am sorry, Daisho. It will be seen to immediately," the guard said, panic edging his voice. All movement in the hallway stopped.

"You're a new guard, yes?" she asked calmly. The guard nodded. "I see. Do you recognize your mistake?"

"Yes, Daisho," the guard said quickly. "I will not make it again."

"You are correct," she said, and moving so suddenly and quickly Daniel could only gape, she pinned the guard against the wall. She drew one of his daggers, and without hesitation, cut the guard's throat. Blood spurted from the wound over her hand and arm, but somehow missed her shirt. She held him agains the wall as he thrashed, drowning in his own blood. When the guard stilled, she let go, glaring at the body in distaste. Then she stared at the frozen people in the hall. "I want this mess, and the one in my antechamber, cleaned up within the hour. If they are not, heads will roll."

Then she swept inside.

As people scurried to do her bidding, Daniel was quietly sick.


	6. Cenaris, Carissa's Rooms, Five Years Ago

_Cenaris, Carissa's Rooms, five years ago_

It was a pale, drawn Daniel, still reeling from the scene in the corridor, that walked through the Daisho's open door. The sight that met him on the antechamber floor made him halt, horrified. The body was mangled past all recognition of sex. Arms and legs were twisted in gruesome angles, one ankle attached to a leg by a thread of skin only. Deep lacerations lined the limbs, and the little skin left was marred by white scars. The torso was likewise destroyed. Around the body was a pool of stagnant, drying blood. The only part not cut was the face, but through a grey haze in his vision Daniel couldn't tell if it was an effeminate male or simply female. He stumbled to the corner, where he dry-heaved for long minutes.

When he managed to control his stomach, he stalked around the blood without looking at the body. Rage flared through him, strengthening his disgust and dampening his fear. The creature who had "saved" him was a monster to do these things to living, breathing humans. All gratitude he had felt towards her evaporated.

He slammed the door open to enter a round chamber, but that was all he noticed, and only in the periphery. All that mattered was lounging in a cusioned chair, picking light maroon grapes from a bowl and eating them daintily.

"Why did you do that?" he hissed, blue eyes sparkling angrily. The blonde barely glanced at him.

"My name is Carissa, and I am the Daisho of this place. The leader," she said, in a bored, unconcerned tone. She turned her depthless brown eyes to Daniel. "Sit down. Eat. You must be hungry."

"The guard in the hallway didn't do anything!" Daniel cried, "and the body in that room—no sentient being deserves that."

"They are not your concern," Carissa dismissed, waving her hand as if batting away a fly. In a stronger voice she repeated, "Sit. Eat."

"No," Daniel growled, staring challengingly into her eyes. They hardened, and that was the only warning he had. She leapt to her feet, the bowl of grapes spilling, and smashed him into the wall. Daniel's head spun as it met stone, and his knees would have buckled save for the woman holding him up. He observed, distantly, that she was amazingly strong for one her size and build.

"I am Daisho," she whispered, brown eyes boring into his dazed blue ones. "You will obey me, or you will die."

"I'd rather die," Daniel spat.

"That can be arranged," returned Carissa calmly. Her slight body had been pressed against him, but now she shifted away. Daniel only thought to struggle when her hands wrapped around his neck, slowly closing. His hands scrambled on her arms, trying to pull her off him, but it was no use: her grip was like an iron vise, crushing his windpipe. He began to see stars, and then black like spilled ink spotted his vision. He flailed, writhed, twisted to no avail. Darkness engulfed his sight—and then he was gasping, drawing oxygen into lungs desperately, coughing, not caring that each gulp of air sent pain screaming through him, only that he could breathe.

When his vision cleared enough for him to see Carissa, she was standing a step away, watching him with unreadable eyes. A red mark was already fading from her cheek. "It seems not all of you wishes to die."

Daniel could make no reply, so he didn't try.

Carissa still observed him as he stood slowly, one hand on the wall to steady himself. Then, a thin, malicious smirk spread over her lips. "Oh, yes, I shall enjoy breaking you."


	7. Cenaris,Carissa's Rooms, Four and a Half

_Cenaris, Carissa's Rooms, four and a half years ago_

Carissa had left the room when she had sated herself; this time, her pleasure did not come from a whip, as was her usual, but from a wickedly curved, sharp knife. He had been half-blind from pain and weak from blood loss by the time she finished.

Someone had come in and cleaned up; who, he wasn't exactly sure. The person had washed his wounds, then stitched them up without a pain-killer. Daniel had passed out, and when he woke he was on crisp white sheets, bandages wound around his chest and his right thigh by his groin. He knew the wounds would scar.

Twin "c"s to mark him as hers forever. A large one, wide and deep, over his heart; another, much smaller but just as deep, on his inner right thigh. Her dominance made physical.

Daniel stared up at the grey, stone ceiling. He could imagine, for a moment, that he was in the SGC, lying in the infirmiry again. The ceiling was just as smooth, the light as bright. The bedclothes were close enough to cotton for him to pretend, and though the mattress wasn't firm enough, and though the room smelled like cinamon and not antiseptic, if he concentrated hard enough—

Then details started to trickle back into his consciousness: the light was too blue, the ceiling slightly curved, the bed soft.

A feeling of helplessness and hopelessness flooded through him. It had been six months, to the i day /i , since he had arrived on Cenaris and become the Daisho's personal whore and whipping boy. Still his friends had not found him. The hope he had cherished—the vision of SG-1 roaring through the 'gate in a blaze of electric blue and blinding white—darkened, dimmed.

The once-archeologist suppressed tears. They wouldn't help his situation, and they might rip his stitches.

Stubbornly, he clung to the only thing he could: the SGC did not leave people behind. Daniel had to keep believing that SG-1 would come; they had to. They couldn't leave him in this nightmare.


	8. Cenaris, Four Years Ago

_Cenaris, four years ago_

The man, Nesin, smirked as he finished tying his pants closed. Satisfied with the promised payment and with the previous three-hour lesson, he gave Daniel a wry nod, and strutted off, whistling under his breath. Daniel stood, straightened his clothes; closed his eyes and leaned against the wall.

It's a good thing I'm handsome, even pretty to some, he thought drily. How else I'd pay for lessons, I don't know.

Daniel pushed himself off the wall, walking in the opposite direction from Nesin. The man was kind enough, and the unacknowledged master of hand-to-hand combat. He was also secretive; Nesin would never tell the Daisho about their lessons.

And slowly, carefully, Daniel was turning him against the Daisho.

Imagining the bitter taste of khav, Cenaris' equivalent of coffee, Daniel was caught off-guard as a wire-thin dagger was placed against his windpipe. A deep, yet recognizably female voice whispered in his ear, "Laddy-me-love, so inattentive. I'm hurt."

Daniel relaxed into the body pressing against him. Another of his "teachers," the most unexpected, and the only person he could call friend. "I was leaving a session with Nesin."

"Ah," she murmured, as if that explained everything. The dagger disappeared from his neck, and he turned to face his attacker. "That is no excuse, though, and you know it. I expect more from one of my pupils."

Daniel shrugged. "Sorry."

"Sorry won't magically heal a cut throat," the woman grumbled. "Let's get some khav."

Daniel followed the redhead as she turned a corner, grinning slightly. Only a few weeks after he had arrived on Cenaris, Kirith had adopted him. The fiery, green-eyed redhead was a godsend, Daniel was sure. Before she had been captured, Kirith had been a spy for the government of P4Q-667. She had honed her skills inside the penal colony, at the same time carefully avoiding the attention of the Daisho. Upon seeing Daniel a year ago, furious and lost and fiercely hopeful by turns, Kirith took him under her wing, teaching him the art of daggers and manipulation. Now, he could hold his own against her when they fought, both physically and verbally.

They entered the cafeteria. At this time of morning, most of the residents of Cenaris were working—at the underground farms that fed the populace, at the water-powered electricity plant, or at myriad other industries that kept Cenaris habitable—and the large cavern was near empty. A long counter, reminicent of a buffet table, ran along one wall; behind it were the kitchens. There was little activity there as well, and the counter only boasted two pitchers over flames: khav. Daniel still wasn't sure exactly what it was made out of, but he liked the coffee-substitute well enough.

The two poured khav into mugs they carried around with them, then chose a seat near one of the pitchers. Daniel stretched, and sipped from his mug.

"So, laddy-me-love, what's on your mind?" Kirith asked softly. She fluttered her lashes playfully, adding, "Third session with Nesin this week. I'm afeared your attentions wander."

Daniel grinned, used to her flirtation, and said, "You're the master spy. Figure it out."

"Ah, you wound me with your sharp words!" Kirith exclaimed. "One would think you no longer cared for a girl."

The ex-member of SG-1 traced his mug lip with a finger. He murmured, "It's not you I don't care for."

"Ah, yes, and here we circle to Carissa, yet again," sighed Kirith with false hurt. "It is a good thing I am a forgiving woman, and don't mind said wandering attentions, even if they do wander overmuch." Her playfull mask dropped, and she continued seriously, "Daniel, what is going through that mind of yours? It's not only Nesin, I know that; I'm not a master spy for nothing. You've also had—sessions? lessons?—with Erin, Jais, and Livvie."

"I'm going to kill her," he whispered, so quietly he wasn't sure she heard. He glanced up at Kirith, eyes burning with a hatred so strong even she recoiled a bit. He rubbed absently at his left pectoral, feeling the white C-shaped scar through his shirt.

"Are you crazy?" Kirith hissed. "That woman will snap you in two if you go up against her!"

"Which is why I'm seeing Nesin, Erin, Jais and Livvie," Daniel muttered back. "They would never tell Carissa what I'm doing, so long as I hold up my end of the bargain. I need more than what you're teaching me if I'm going to beat her."

"Daniel—"

"Don't, Kirith," Daniel snapped. "I won't rethink this. I will kill her, and I will do it with relish."

"Your friends," the spy breathed, "Jack, Sam, Teal'c. You don't think they'll come for you anymore?"

Daniel grimly focussed on his khav. "I won't be her plaything, not any more. If they come—"

"Not when?"

" i If /i they come, I will deal with them then," the younger man finished.

"You realize, if you kill her, you'll be Daisho," Kirith said, after taking a long drink from her khav.

"That's why I need your help," Daniel replied. "I need you to start working people onto my side—guards, electricians, cooks, whoever. I need a power base, if I'm to succeed Carissa and not find myself the victim of an unhappy accident."

"Or meeting the sharp end of an assassin's knife," added Kirith. She stretched, and finished her khav. Daniel waited. When Kirith looked at him next, her eyes were mischievious, and her mouth twiched into a malicious grin. "Well, laddy-me-love, it's about time things changed."


End file.
